


Playing Hooky: All Things Revisited

by 2momsmakearight



Category: The X-Files
Genre: Episode: s07e17 All Things, F/M, Fluff and Smut, MSR, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-20
Updated: 2016-12-20
Packaged: 2018-09-10 16:40:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,895
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8924461
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/2momsmakearight/pseuds/2momsmakearight
Summary: What if there were choices along the way...and there were signs you were supposed to follow...? What if what we know of the beginning sequence of that episode isn't true?





	

She came to him last night, drowsy and stiff after falling asleep beside him on his couch. He was still awake as she entered his bedroom, reading as he sat propped up in his bed.

***  
Speak to me...

"Hey sleepy head," he smiles at her, as she walks towards him, and she smiles in return, ducking her chin ruefully. 

"I'm sorry about falling asleep," she says, tucking her hair behind her ear. "I uh," she pauses, toying with the edge of his mattress, "I guess I didn't realize how tired I was." 

"It's okay," he says as he sits up and closes the book on his lap. "A life-altering experience can do that a person." He scoots over and pats the edge of the mattress in invitation. She hesitates only a moment before sitting down with a long sigh. 

"I don't know if it was life-altering," she says, shaking her head. Speak to me...

"Then what do you think it was?" 

She smiles sadly. "Daniel asked me something...something I haven't been able to shake." 

"What did he ask you?"

"What I wanted," she answers simply. She chuckles to herself. "I guess I just... I hadn't really thought about it before," she finishes softly. 

He nods, reaching his hand out to brush his thumb against her skirt. "What do you want, Scully?" The rasp of his voice makes her shiver, and she licks her lips unconsciously. 

"What do you want, Mulder?" He smiles at the turn-about. She'll always keep him guessing...

"There are still a few paths I haven't taken, Scully-- things I haven't...discovered," he says, his voice low and deep as he searches her eyes. His thumb continues its slow stroke against her thigh. Her skin sizzles under his finger, and her pulse quickens at the implications of his words. 

"What's left to discover?" she whispers, letting her fingertips brush against his arm. Her belly burns in anticipation of his answer, and she breathes shakily. 

"The truth, Scully. Our truth." 

"Our time," he adds at length. 

She searches his eyes, seeing the wordless plead hidden there. She stands at the proverbial precipice, and the grip on her hips tighten, his hands holding her place. It's the answer she's been searching for. The road not taken. The choice stands before her. 

With shaky hands she reaches out and trails her fingernails through his hair, and she watches as goose bumps pimple the skin of his neck and arms. 

"I...." she trails off, and he lifts his eyes to her. "God, I'm tired of fighting it..." she sighs. 

"Then don't." He grips the back of her neck as he rises to sit up, closing his mouth on hers. She moans into the intensity of the kiss, the inevitably of it, practically sobbing with relief that the moment finally presented itself. 

Reluctantly, she pulls from the kiss, slowly opening her eyes to meet his eyes, heavy with lust and raw hunger. Her belly quivers. 

She searches his face for a moment and stands up, keeping her eyes fixed on his as she sheds her jacket, and crosses her arms to pull her green sweater over her head. She gasps when she feels his lips between her breasts, and she pulls her sweater from her arms and drops it to the floor beside her before wrapping her arms around his head, crushing his face to her with a soft "oh god..."

Slowly, he pulls her into the v of his spread legs, his face level with her breasts. As his mouth works on the ample flesh of her chest and neck, his hands began to work on the side closure of her skirt. She trembles under his touch, and each soft sigh and gasp makes his hands shake with the desire to touch her more. 

She reaches behind her back and releases the clasp of her bra, letting it fall loosely down her arms. He lifts his eyes up to hers as his hands push the skirt down her hips, wordlessly asking her permission even as she stands half-naked in offering. She drops her face and brings her lips back down to his, and he moans, gripping the flesh of her ass in his hands. Fiercely, he pulls her towards him, pulling her thighs to straddle his hips. 

She moans as her center comes into contact with his erection, and her nipples graze the soft cotton of his T-shirt. He quickly pulls his shirt over his head, and she cups his face, looking deeply into his lust-filled eyes. 

Everything has led to this moment. 

Every choice. 

Every decision. 

She can feel him holding back, trembling with his desire and forcing it at bay. But she doesn't want it tampered. Doesn't want him to hold back. She craves his raw desire, his raw passion. 

Their communication has always been their strongest quality, their ability to speak to each other in ways uncommon and unique. He's never restrained himself as he passionately argued his views on the paranormal, sparring toe-to-toe with her on the smallest of details, and the thought of his unbridled passion makes her skin prickle -- how the feel of their natural yin and yang, push and pull, will feel against her body, inside her body. The thought of what’s to come sends a shiver rushing over her and down her spine. 

"Speak to me," she whispers, imploring and pleading that they begin this new form of communication between them. When his mouth closes around her nipple, and his hands pulls her hips against his cock, she gasps as every hair stands on end. He knows what she needs. She needs his hands. His mouth. She needs *him*.  
++++  
The sun creeps through the blinds, casting the beige comforter in a orange and reddish glow. She blinks slowly, adjusting to the brightness of the early morning, adjusting to the changes that will surely greet her when she rolls over. 

She smiles into the pillow, her belly swimming with the memories of his hands on her, his mouth on her... The room smells of him, of them really; the musk of sex still lingers heavily in the stagnant bedroom air. 

She faces the window, and her belly becomes knotted in the familiar jitters that only the morning after the first time you make love with your best friend brings. What happens now? Where do they go from here? They'd jumped off the proverbial ledge together...always together..., and he held her on the way down, soothing her churning mind with his touch, whispering words into her ear to quiet the voices that threatened to consume her and take her away from the beauty of the moment. 

Their bodies had moved as one, partners in all things, and her skin still tingles with the sound of his guttural release, and the way he moved against her. She'd coaxed the last remnant of his pleasure as he --

"I can feel you thinking." 

His sleepy morning voice jolts her, and she smiles into her pillow. He rolls towards her, wrapping his warmth against her back, and an unconscious moan tickles the back of her throat. 

He's impossibly hot against her bare skin, and she hisses as his arm settles against her bare belly. Her skin jumps and jolts with each lazy swirl of his fingers. It would be ticklish if the soft caresses weren't registering directly between her legs, centering with an ache of impossible heat.

"Morning," she rasps, sighing into his embrace. He hums in agreement, and kisses her shoulder with a long sigh. His warmth envelopes her, renews her, and she allows herself the quiet moment of being in his arms, forgetting the worries that surely face them outside of the fourth floor Alexandria apartment. Government conspiracies can wait to live another day, she thinks. 

"How'd you sleep?" he whispers, pressing his lips against her neck. Shivering at the touch, she shifts her hips, and inadvertently presses them into his erection. Her eyes unconsciously roll at the hiss of his pleasure. She was reasonably sure that if he simply moaned in her ear she could orgasm without even being touched. It's primal, intimate beyond measure -- the sound a person makes while making love, and she finds herself craving it again, swelling and gushing at the memory of it. 

His hand lazily runs along her stomach and down her side, and her muscles flutter under the roughened pads of his fingers. Her belly quivers as renewed desire builds, and she bites the corner of her lip in anticipation, her breaths coming in shaky bursts. Heat radiates from his skin in waves, and his erection prods the soft flesh of her behind. 

"I'm glad you stayed," he whispers, nuzzling her neck, and sending a shivers down her arm as his morning stubble grazes against her ear. 

And as his hand sneaks forward and slips between her legs, she surrenders to his touch, surrenders to the possibilities. 

She's glad she stayed, too.  
+++++

The sun is considerably higher in the sky when she feels his fingers weaving through her hair, rousing her from her sated, post-coital daze. She hums against his chest, shifting to face him. 

"Mmmm, I need to go... We have work," she whispers, and he shifts to his side mirroring her position. 

"You want to go?" The small pout that graces his bottom lip reminds her of a child denied dessert even after he ate all of his vegetables, and she can't help but lift her chin and press her lips against it, soothing the pout away with the gentle flick of her tongue. 

"We have work, Mulder. It's...," she lifts her head to see his alarm clock. "Ten after seven. We need to get up," she says, pulling away with a gentle sigh. "I shouldn't have stayed all night," she says softly, rolling away from him. He stops her movement with his strong arms, curling himself around her. 

"Yes, you should have." 

She smiles at his sureness, her belly warm with his affection, but her mind was reeling, overwhelmed with the primal urge to burrow back beneath the sheets that smelled like them. Ignore reality of life. 

"I want you to stay, Scully." 

"What?" She blinks at him, rolling over to her side to face. He smiles and lifts a finger to her face, wiping a smudge of mascara from the corner of her eye. Lost in his embrace, and too wrapped up in the moment, she jerks gently, and uses her own fingers to wipe beneath her eyes. Jesus... What she must look like. Raccoon eyes, and frizzy hair...morning breath. She tucks her hair behind her ears, and pulls the sheet up to her face. 

"I want you stay," Mulder continues, kissing her forehead. "Spend the day with me, Scully. We'll play hooky." 

"Hooky?" She lifts an eyebrow in retort. 

"When was the last time you ever played hooky?" he says, resting his hand on her hip "We can --" She lifts the sheet and partially covers her face, breaking his train of thought "What are you doing?" he asks, furrowing his brows

"Hmm?" she asks, holding the sheet still as she smoothes her hair behind her ears again. 

"What's with the," he mimics her, covering his mouth like her face was covered. 

"Morning breath," she says softly. 

He covers his mouth. "Sorry. I'll brush in a second."

"No, *I* have morning breath," she explains. 

He smiles, pulling the sheet from her face. "So? Scully, I've smelled far worse on you. A manure factory exploded on us, if you haven't forgotten."

"Oh, I haven't forgotten, Mulder," she says with an indignant rise of her eyebrow. "But that was...," she trails off. "Never mind." 

He lifts her hand to his mouth and kisses the back of it. "Before we spent the night together?" 

She shrugs, averting her eyes. She didn't really have to go to work, did she? Couldn't she be irresponsible and spend the day in the arms of her partner? 

He rolls towards her, burying his face in her neck. "Scully, I didn't hear any morning breath complaints come out of your mouth when I made you come thirty minutes ago." His teeth nip at her ear lobe. Yes, hooky was sounding more and more like a better idea.

"Stay? For breakfast, at least? We can go in late," he pleads gently, kissing her hand again. "Come on, we don't even have to leave. We can get the deli down the street to deliver us some bagels and coffee."

"Why the urge for me to stay, Mulder?" 

He leans down and kisses her languidly, letting their tongues swirl for the briefest of moments. 

"Because I just want this to last a little while longer," he whispers against her lips. 

She sighs and nods, feeling the truth of his words settle acutely in her chest. Outside these walls they were Mulder and Scully, FBI partners in the search for paranormal existence. Inside these walls, they were a man and a woman enjoying the simplicities of what a man and woman did together. It was basal. Primal. Simple. It was them, reduced to their most basic states. Intensely beautiful in its intimacy, but incredibly terrifying in its implications. What happens tomorrow? 

"I'll go order breakfast," he says, excitedly rolling from the bed without waiting for her answer. 

As he leaves the room, he pauses at the door. "Brush your teeth, Scully. Your breath stinks." He smiles so wide at her that she can't help but smile in return, her cheeks pink more from his charm than mock diatribe. 

She gets out of bed, and pads into his bathroom, pausing in front of the mirror. Hooky, huh? The last time she played hooky she was a senior in medical school, too hung over to attend a lecture after spending on evening celebrating their exam results. 

Wearing one of his work shirts and with a toothbrush hanging from her mouth, she meets him in his living room. 

"Might as well order lunch, too." Mulder's eyes twinkled at her words. Work could wait. Today belonged to them. 

++++  
She can't stop looking at his mouth as he licks his fingers clean of the cream cheese covering the tips. A forgotten bit of white sits at the corner of his mouth and she unconsciously licks her lips, wondering what it would taste like if she leaned over and licked it from him. 

Lox and cream cheese bagels. It was his idea. She scrunches her face in distaste as piece of orange smoked salmon is pulled from the onion bread, dangling from his mouth before he severs the meat with his teeth. 

"Scully, you don't know what you're missing," he says, licking his fingers. 

She swallows and nods, bringing a Styrofoam cup of coffee to her lips. "I'll take your word on it." Her whole wheat bagel with light cream cheese had been reduced to crumbs on her own plate, her appetite more ravenous than she expected. 

His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows and leans towards her. 

"You should try it sometime," he says, his voice dark and husky and she fights the shiver that threatens to ripple down her frame as his lips lightly graze hers in just the briefest of kiss. 

"What was that for?" she asks, her eyes heavy. 

He shrugs. "Just wanted to."

The corner of her mouth lifts to a smile even as her belly fills with warmth. "Because you wanted to?"

"Yeah." He shrugs and leans down for another, letting his tongue graze her bottom lip. 

"I like being able to kiss you whenever I want," he says against her lips. "I plan on doing it a lot," he finishes at length, meeting her eyes with his sleepy gaze. 

"You do, do you?" she rasps. Her breathing quickens at the mere closeness of him. 

"Yes, I do," he says most seriously, slanting his head to cover her lips with his. He tastes of coffee and smoked salmon, and she whimpers into his mouth as his tongue swirls against hers. 

"'Kay." It's all she can say when their lips part, red and swollen. Her skin tingles from the mere closeness of him, and she bites her lip, fighting the smile threatening to form. 

She could get used to this. 

+++++

"Mulder, I don't have any clothes here," she says, picking up the scattered items that lay across his bedroom floor, discarded in haste the night before. 

"What's wrong with what you're wearing?" he says, meeting her at his bedroom door and leaning against the frame. 

She pulls at the blue and white striped dress shirt that hangs limply off her small frame, the sleeves rolled to her elbows. 

"Mulder, I don't have pants," she answers with a small scoff. 

He walks towards her, wrapping his arms around her. "So?" 

She rolls her eyes. "So... If you're hoping for us to leave your apartment today, I'm going to need clothes." 

He bends forward and presses his lips against her neck. 

"I don't plan on leaving," he growls against her skin, and she whimpers, squirming in his arms as his teeth nip at the sensitive flesh. 

She pulls away, her eyes heavy and laden with desire. "Just what did you have in mind?" 

She watches as his pupils dilate in response to her challenge and she feels herself gush, her legs shaking as he pushes her gently towards the bed. 

When her ass hits the mattress, she gasps and leans back on her elbows, her legs spread gently, just enough to tease him with glimpses of her pantless body. He stands in the v of her legs and hooks his fingers in the elastic of her panties. 

"There's something I didn't get to do last night," he whispers, pulling the silk down her legs. 

"Yeah?" she asks coyly, knowing full-well what his intentions are. Her clit aches at the thought of his mouth on her, and she swallows convulsively, her breathing fast and erratic as she trembles under his hands. 

"Yeah," he growls, and she gasps as he pulls her roughly towards him and sinks to his knees, burying his face between her legs with a primal moan. 

Her thighs are sore and overused, and her clit aches for reasons beyond arousal. His lips are soft, and his stubble deliciously adds to the overall sensation, heightening every intense flick of his tongue against her engorged flesh. But it’s the sight of him between her legs, his eyes intensely focused on her face as he devours her, tastes her, that sends her over the edge, tumbling over the ledge for the third time in less than twelve hours. 

++++

He steps in behind her, and she turns to him in the small tub, letting the warm water roll down her back as he lowers his face to her for a kiss. 

She's warm and slippery, smelling of his soap in the humid air, and he moans as his arms wrap around her, unable to resist the allure of her full mouth. 

"You're insatiable," she mumbles against him, trailing her tongue against his bottom lip. He tastes of her, her flavor lingering on his tongue like a fine wine, and she whimpers when he grips her ass and pulls her towards him, pressing his hardened length into her belly. 

"Don't pretend that you're not," he growls against her cheek, and she shivers at his awareness of her – how deeply he knows her, and knows her desires. He slides his hand down her body, slipping between her legs with his own primal grunt of satisfaction. She wet, and swollen and she curses her body’s betrayal of her well-manicured exterior. She shudders against him, gripping his hips to steady herself against the unfamiliar power of her arousal under his assault. 

It's still new; so impossibly new that just the nearness of him makes her gush. His fingers delve softly between her legs, and she moans into his mouth, but not out of pleasure. She pulls away with a soft hiss. 

"I'm a little sore," she says sadly, pressing her lips to his chest in apology. 

"Scully," he sighs reverently, leaning down to kiss her softly, "I don't know whether to be sorry, or smug." He smiles down at her, and she ducks her chin, feeling her cheeks burn. 

He’s hard and thick against her, and she wraps her hand around him, watching his eyes flutter as she begins to slowly stroke him from root to tip. Two can play at this game…

The side of her mouth lifts to a satisfied grin, and he hisses when she drops to her knees and takes him in her mouth. Water pounds on his chest, rolling down his stomach in soft ripples, and she lifts her eyes to him as her tongue strokes his length. He murmurs expletives in soft growls-- praying to a deity he doesn't believe in, whispering his thanks to her, her mouth, her tongue - like that, just like that, don't stop, fuck Scully. 

When the final drop of pleasure is licked from his body, she stands and places a kiss to his chest, returning her attentions to the water stream, her cleaning rituals having been forgotten. He stands motionless beside her, his breathing slowly returning to normal as he looked at her through heavy lids. 

She smiles coquettishly at him, letting the final remnants of soap wash from her body. 

“Who’s smug now, Scully?” 

++++

The sun begins to set in the sky and he watches as the dust floats in the amber light of the room. She sits on the couch, knees propped up and legs crossed as an opened newspaper blocks his view of her face. Her hair glitters in the sunlight and he's struck by the simplistic beauty that is her. Her aquiline profile, her alabaster skin. He has consumed her, touched her, tasted her, and he's never thought her to be more beautiful than she is right now, sitting there in his shirt as she twiddles with a pencil and a crossword puzzle. The shirt -- his shirt -- rides up her thigh, giving him a view of the succulent flesh of her legs, her foot idly bouncing to a tune only she can hear. 

He stretches his legs out, squeezing them in the space between her hip and the back of the couch, and she folds the corner of the newspaper down and regards him with a patented lift of her brow. 

"Long legs," is his excuse, and she rolls her eyes, shaking the newspaper back to its original state. 

Still, even behind a small sigh, she lowers her legs to rest beside his, nudging his jeans with her ballet pink-painted toes. 

"Gatsby's manner of death. Seven letters." 

He drops his section of the paper, looking to the side as he regards her question. 

"Gunshot." 

"Ah! YES!" she smiles as she places the letters in the correct boxes, settling further into his couch. 

He smiles at her unabashed happiness. She doesn't nearly smile enough. 

He leans forward and lifts the crossword from her fingers, ignoring her indignant cry at his action. He drapes himself over her body, and braces his hands against the arm rest behind her head. 

"What are you doing?" 

He murmurs into her cheek, brushing his lips across hers. "Prelude to making love. Teenagers do it in their parents' basement. Seven letters." 

She smiles against him and nips his bottom lip. "You wanna make out?" 

+++

Rubbing her hair with his towel, she opens the door to his bathroom. "Hey, Mulder, where's your...," she stops short, seeing his propped up body sleeping against his headboard. An open book lay spread across his belly, moving up and down with each of his breaths, his glasses still perched on the edge of his nose. 

She crosses to where he sleeps, and the bed dips softly as she sits beside him, her wet hair dripping down her bare shoulders. 

She regards him for a moment, replaying the day's events in her head. All the different roads she could have taken. The different person she could have been...things she could have had. And still, as she sits and looks at the man in front of her the choice has never been clearer. She wouldn't change a day. Certainly not the one they spent today...

She smoothes a lock of errant hair from his forehead, before she lifts his glasses from his face. He jerks at her touch, and he opens his eyes lazily, smiling softly and blinking slowly. Her belly jolts and before she can stop it, she leans forward, pausing only a moment before her lips are brushing his, softly moving against his mouth.

Her breath hitches when his fingers feather through her wet hair, and his mouth opens, allowing their tongues to gently meet. She whimpers into his mouth as his each touch of his tongue sends an electric current through her body. 

He had touched her in so many ways: softly, gently, fiercely and possessively. Their touches had once been timid and unsure, but the way he touched her now overwhelmed her. They had had sex. They had had fun. They had experimented. But now they make love. 

Bodies roll across his bed, soft sighs and moans echoing off the walls of his apartment, speaking of their affection for each other. Seven years together, and everything led to this moment. This was their time. Tomorrow, work would consume them again, but for now, they have each other. 

++++

"I think I should start calling you Dana now," he says breathlessly as he presses a kiss to the top of her head. 

She smiles against his chest, sighing in post-coital contentment. "Mmmm, but I like the way you say, Scully." She can feel his smile graze her hair and she burrows in closer to his side, unwilling to sever the connection. 

"What time do you need to leave in the morning?" he whispers. 

"Early. Around five, I think. I need to go home and change. Meeting Marjorie at Quantico at seven-thirty for an assist on that double murder," she says behind a yawn. 

"Mmmm," he concedes, nodding against her head. "That's right." 

"Yeah..." she sighs, though not in agreement, but in trepidation. It's the first time since breakfast that the topic of work came up, and the thought of returning to their facades in the morning makes her head spin. What is he thinking? Is he worried about the same things that she is? Worried about their future? About their present? How will they manage work and pleasure? 

"Quit thinking, Scully," he admonishes gently, and she lifts her head with a sigh. 

"I know, I just --" he stops her words with a finger against her lips, and his eyes droop as he follows the trail of it down her lips, down her chin. 

"I know what you're thinking, Scully. I'm thinking the same things, believe me. And that's partly why I wanted to do this today. Stay in, I mean."

"Yeah?" she asks.

"Yeah," he confirms. "I wanted to...," he trails off searching for the answer. "I didn't want to make love to you, spend the night with you, only to have to turn around and go back to work pretending as if I hadn't just spent hours kissing every square inch of you." 

Her face burns and she ducks her chin, pulling her bottom lip between her teeth. She nods. "I know," she whispers. "Me too." 

"We'll figure this out together, Scully. You and me, okay? One day at a time..." He lifts her hand and presses his lips to it, closing his eyes in gentle reverence. "For better or for worse, Scully, you're...," he trails off. She watches his eyes fill with tears and she shifts up on the bed, kissing his lips softly. 

"I know, Mulder. Me too." She doesn't know what he was going to say. She doesn't ask. It doesn't matter. Because at the end of the day, for better or for worse, they have each other. 

She brushes her lips across his. "I'm glad I stayed."

His lips curl softly. "Me too." 

+++

Dawn has yet to break on the new day. The trees outside tap lightly against the window of his darkened bedroom, and she dresses in the soft light of the bathroom. She pulls her green sweater over her head, and runs her fingers through her hair, fastening the clothing that she had worn to his apartment two nights ago. 

She's realized over the course of the weekend that time passes in moments. Moments, which rushing past, define the path of a life, just as surely as they lead towards its end. How rarely does she ever stop to examine that path? To see the reason why all things happen? 

 

It had started with a conversation about fate, about the endless choices in one's life. Now, after choosing a different path, pausing to take stock of each precious moment before it passes, she walks from his bedroom feeling as if she has decided on the ultimate of choices, the beginning of her own journey. Their journey. 

 

He's still asleep as she closes the door softly to his fourth floor apartment, and as she slides into her car, the sun begins to peak across the horizon. A new day. 

 

It says a lot. A lot, a lot, a lot.


End file.
